


By the Mercy of Noonvale

by WobblyPaws (orphan_account)



Category: Redwall Series - Brian Jacques
Genre: Canon Compliant, post martin the warrior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 07:29:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11801328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/WobblyPaws
Summary: Wulpp learns to pass on the favors given him, and begins to change.





	By the Mercy of Noonvale

**Author's Note:**

> this is written by diego @wobblypaws- they didn't have an ao3 account so i'm posting it for them. this is all diego's writing!

It had been so long since he last spoke with someone else; his tongue started feeling numb at the thought of speaking at all.

He swore, in the rustling of the leaves, his former captain would sneer at him. He swore, on a misty morning, the faces and forms of his long gone shipmates appeared in the haze, their names lost to the silence behind crackling fires. In his head, he recalled his own name every few steps or so. Traversing the outskirts of a foreign castle, far from whence he came, he knew he'd never hear it be called again:  _ 'Wulpp, of the Seascarab Horde.' _

The battle of Marshank left him with a bitter taste between every scrap of food he'd snatched from a wandering cart, with every sweet berry he'd come across serendipitously on his search for shelter, and after every waking breath that punctuated his nightmares.

He'd washed his hands countless times from when he'd first drawn a warrior's blood. All those lives lost to the dark forest, yet, by the mercy of a Noonvaler, the one he knew as  _ Bucktail _ , Wulpp walked from the fallen Fortress Marshank, and never turned back.

The shadows of the trees stretched across the grass. Wulpp tucked himself within the branches, never giving away his position, as he watched moles, shrew, and hedgehogs travel away. He heard them whisper about something called 'Brockhall'. A safe haven, perhaps?

Every young mouse who passed by reminded Wulpp of the Noonvaler who spared him many moons ago.  _ 'When we've gone, take off south down the beach. I never want to see you again. Good luck!' _ He often thought about seeking the elusive city, as he roamed aimlessly through the mountains, but never knew to what end. One day, he finally decided to leave Marshank and Noonvale to the past, as he rowed a dinghy to a new land.

The orange tint the over woodlands gradually softened to heavy blue. Wulpp found himself in seeking refuge in a rundown house. As he started a fire, the glow revealed a long room, sturdy wooden walls and pillars, stairs, a brick oven, and lone, small window. The tables and chairs looked like they had been disturbed, but none broken or overturned. The grizzled rat curled up in his own cloak, beside the crackling fire that lulled him to sleep.

A welcoming scent of cooking enticed him in his dreams that night: a feast outside of his recognition. He roamed the very house he slept in, but in another time. The room was alight with candles, and the door swung open to invite in what felt like spring weather--

A knock at the door jolted him awake. The fire's glow was dancing orange across the walls. Wulpp gripped his belongings and lightly stepped forward towards the window. A second knock. Wulpp squinted his watery eyes and peeked through the glass: He was welcomed by darkness, and only the dull red from a lantern that had gone out. A third knock. Wulpp could make out the features of a pine marten, who held a paw to his stomach and whose shoulder was stained in crimson. A fourth knock, much softer than the ones before.

Taking a breath, Wulpp creaked the door open, and spoke quietly: “Come in, friend.”


End file.
